 | Louise de la Valliaere and other poems |  |
36
POPPIES.
Through the land at Midsummer,
Singing, Love came.
Gracious was the new-comer,
Like a God in face and limb,
And the trailing wings of him
Tipped with flame.
Red gold hair, and fair flushed face,
Warm as the south;
And he stood a little space,
By the sunrise seas of wheat,
Took wild rose and meadow-sweet,
And laid them on his mouth.
Singing, Love came.
Gracious was the new-comer,
Like a God in face and limb,
And the trailing wings of him
Tipped with flame.
Red gold hair, and fair flushed face,
Warm as the south;
And he stood a little space,
By the sunrise seas of wheat,
Took wild rose and meadow-sweet,
And laid them on his mouth.
In his luminous deep eyes
A slow smile grew,
When a small bird, brown and wise,
Sudden sang, a yard away,
A little mad fair roundelay
To skies of blue;
And ah! his eyes were very sad,
With tears o'erfilled,
And died the grave sweet smile he had,
When in the wide wheat's wrinkled gold
He saw a small bird, soft and cold,
Its singing stilled.
A slow smile grew,
When a small bird, brown and wise,
Sudden sang, a yard away,
37
To skies of blue;
And ah! his eyes were very sad,
With tears o'erfilled,
And died the grave sweet smile he had,
When in the wide wheat's wrinkled gold
He saw a small bird, soft and cold,
Its singing stilled.
Many a gift he bore that hour
For many a one,
Rose, and rue, and passion-flower;
As he went, he gatherèd
The silken poppies, tall and red,
Flaunting in the sun.
Took them to him tenderly,
The flowers of sleep,
Kissed their lips with many a sigh,
“Now, I have no better thing
Than a Lethe cup to bring
To some that weep.”
For many a one,
Rose, and rue, and passion-flower;
As he went, he gatherèd
The silken poppies, tall and red,
Flaunting in the sun.
Took them to him tenderly,
The flowers of sleep,
Kissed their lips with many a sigh,
“Now, I have no better thing
Than a Lethe cup to bring
To some that weep.”
So he came, in morning hours,
To a garden wild,
Where, amid hushed dreaming fowers,
A pale, golden-headed girl,
Like a daisy, or a pearl,
Sang and smiled.
The reddest rose in all the land;
He held to her,
Fell the poppies from his hand,
Brushed the gold bloom of her hair,
Smote her innocent eyes, and fair,
Till closed they were.
To a garden wild,
38
A pale, golden-headed girl,
Like a daisy, or a pearl,
Sang and smiled.
The reddest rose in all the land;
He held to her,
Fell the poppies from his hand,
Brushed the gold bloom of her hair,
Smote her innocent eyes, and fair,
Till closed they were.
When the slumber took her eyes,
Skies were blue and gold,
The world was fair as Paradise,
And when she woke, ah, well-a-day!
The wintry world was bare and grey,
And she was cold,
Very tired, and most forlorn:
“Now, heart, wilt break?
Our life's day is gone since morn;
All the years like shifting sands,
Slipped from out those empty hands,
For a dream's sake!”
Skies were blue and gold,
The world was fair as Paradise,
And when she woke, ah, well-a-day!
The wintry world was bare and grey,
And she was cold,
Very tired, and most forlorn:
“Now, heart, wilt break?
Our life's day is gone since morn;
All the years like shifting sands,
Slipped from out those empty hands,
For a dream's sake!”
| Louise de la Valliaere and other poems | |